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It’s like deja vu. I have too many irons in the fire…again. So I intend to take a break for a while. Gotta get my priorities in order.

If, in the meantime, I think of something that will change the world, you guys will be first to hear about it.

My blog has made it, by some mistake, to the short list of the ‘best humour blogs’ in Ireland. I haven’t worn my funny cap in months. Strange. Best of luck to the remaining participants.

On the car journey home from work today, my workmate and myself were listening to the news on the radio. He had lived across the pond, in Boston, for a few years. He has fond memories of the States, some of which he retells to me on our journeys home.

But today on the radio the newsreader told the heartbreaking tale of a young girl who accidentally shot her gun instructor…with an Uzi !! That’s a submachine gun. It ‘sprays’ bullets.

I will pray that the girl will fully recover from the eyewitness shock of what a gun actually does. The poor girl. May God watch over her.

“…the girl was nine years old,” finished the newsreader.

With that, my workmate starts nodding and goes “And they can’t order a beer until they’re 21.”

I touched one for the first time last Saturday. My hand trembled as I stroked her. I had waited a long time for this moment.

You must understand that throughout my boyhood I had only ever seen one in the centre-fold of a magazine. But no glossy picture in an 80’s magazine could have prepared me for her beauty, in the flesh. She was, she is, gorgeous!

You’ve guessed it. I am talking about the ‘Audi Sport Quattro – short wheel base’. The daddy of d’Audi.

The face of beauty

..and the behind…phwoarr!

God’s gift to car enthusiasts. Only 214 were ever made. 175 were sold to the public. The rest were converted to rally cars or used for test purposes.

Audi already had the longer wheel base Quattro in production for a few years and these were also very successful in rally format. But zee german auto company vanted to build zee ‘ultimate’ rally car. The rally rules stated that a car had to have a production run of at least 200 vehicles before it could be used for competition. Hence the 214.

I will leave it that. I am a bit of an anorak on 80’s Audi and VW cars. I have owned lots of those brands in years gone by. I even went though a period of rally driving also. She was a little Mk 1 golf. Good memories. Back when I had some money. Back before the children needed trivial things like…I don’t know…shoes and food.

Hello children, goodbye rally car.

So anyway last Saturday I came face to face with both a road version and a rally version of the delicious ‘Sport Quattro SWB’ at a car show.

Suspicious looking spouse.

“Dear Santa, I have been a good boy. There is just one thing I would like…” Joking aside, it was nice to meet my dream car in person. I think we all have one, or used to, at one time.

I have included a short video clip of an Audi in action during the golden years of rally, when men were men and tyres were cheap.

It should have been me in that video…if it hadn’t been for those meddling kids!

A while back the Daily Prompt on WordPress asked me if there was something in my collection that I would like to read again. At the time I didn’t respond to the prompt. Sometimes I find it hard to make choices. That was one of those times.

Then last week I recalled a book that left a lasting impact on me. Whenever I hear about kidnappings and hostages I think of a man called Brian Keenan. A Belfast man who went to Beirut for a change of scenery, in 1985. Bad decision. He was kidnapped and held hostage for four and a half years! That’s a long time. Most of that time in darkened solitary confinement, or what the prison movies call The hole.

It’s not a book about politics. It is a testimony to willpower. In the book, the reader is not only in the cell, the reader is allowed inside his head. My brief review doesn’t do justice to this book, but in this age with the ‘Power of positive thoughts’ being all the rage, Brian Keenan’s book ‘An evil cradling’ blows everything else away when it comes to coping with circumstances. He has walked the walk, albeit within the confines of a tiny cell.

I will read it again.

Getting back to today’s Daily Prompt. It asks..If I was given a robot, which task would I use it for?

I sometimes feel pity for the executioners. Not the type who would video record an execution for the torment of a victim’s family! But the traditional executioner down through history. A judge and jury call the shots but the buck always stops with him.

I try to imagine what it must be like for him, when he is alone at night with his thoughts. He can’t explain his actions away with terms like ‘self defence’. It is an unnecessary kill. I feel sorry for him sometimes.

In Ireland last week the abortion debate has started again. I have never been in that situation so I am not qualified to judge. But there is one issue which really upsets me. Suicide risk of the pregnant female is often given as being reasonable grounds for granting an abortion.

My question is this… What about the doctor? What if, after a few abortions, he breaks down? What if he becomes suicidal?

It’s very easy to be judge and jury. Being executioner is a different kettle of fish altogether.

Any of my regular readers (Hi Mom) will know that I have a strong dislike for leaders who command whole armies from the comfort of an office. No blood on his / her hands!

I suppose what I am trying to say is that perhaps it is good to put ourselves in the shoes of those holding the syringe or whatever instrument they use. I feel sorry for those people, sometimes. They aren’t robots.

Apart from myself there have been approximately a half-dozen others who have seen my wife naked. Worse yet, we all live in the same town!

Still, time is the great healer. It doesn’t bother me so much now. It doesn’t bother her in the slightest.

We were a young couple. Newly married. Twenty-two years a piece. Mad for each other.

For the first two years of marriage we rented a small house while we saved for the deposit on our current home. It was a perfect little love nest. I have photos somewhere but I found this one online. You can see the cottage and its proximity to the beach.

The love shack, baby!

The cottage is very old, in fact there was a ghost which used to whisper at times. True! But that didn’t bother us because we were too busy with each other, you know, exorcising our inhibitions.

Then one day…Crash!…Splash! The water tank in the attic gave up its own ghost. It was one of the older galvanised tanks, unlike the newer plastic versions. Anyway, it had rusted through, dumping its load. The ceiling gave way and drenched all below. Nether of us were in at the time and it wasn’t until hours later when we arrived back from work that we made the discovery.

The cottage owner was very helpful. He gave us the keys to another, more modern, holiday chalet in the neighbourhood while he got the old cottage fixed up.

On the Saturday night we went out with friends for a few beers and a spot of dancing. Bear in mind we were still young.

Upon returning, nature took its course. Just like the movies there was a trail of clothing from the front door to the bedroom door. Enough said.

The next morning we just lay there recalling how much fun we’d had with our friends at the disco. Well we laughed and snuggled and chatted until I could hold it no longer. I had one in the barrel and it was high time to let it go.

So up I get and scurry to the bedroom door in a panic. I reached for the doorknob and it came off in my hand! This was bad!! The door was hinged to open inwards. I tried refitting and turning it slowly but it was no use; the door was a very tight fit in the door frame, maybe because the house was rarely occupied.

Needless to say my wife was in stitches. No compassion there. Not even a waste paper basket in the room. Yes, if there had been I would have went in it. Image is nothing, in a situation like this!

Her laughing slowed when she realised that all our clothes were on the other side of the door. Her laughing stopped when she had to wriggle out the window. I didn’t give her time to mull it over. By now, I was in countdown mode. The idea was that she would enter through the front door and, once inside, open the bedroom door from the inside. Good job it was a bungalow.

But then. “Look Daddy, look! That woman has a bare bum.”

I stuck my head out the window. There was a family next door having breakfast outside. Lovely! Both parents and the two children stared as my wife picked herself up and ran off around the side of the house. Not only that but there was a couple out walking their spotted dalmatians who had also stopped to feast their eyes. Being totally honest, at that moment, I didn’t care what they thought. I just needed to go, so so badly.

It came to pass, the plan worked. The relief was Biblical!

A day or two later we were back in the Love Shack. A week or two later, the townsfolk found someone else’s wife to talk about.

The first thing I did when we bought our own house…I planted a hedge. Because as we all know, those who forget their history are destined to repeat it.

When musicians talk about the great music composers they often mention Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, and the other guy. I am not a musician. I can just about play the guitar, badly. But I think most real musicians will agree that Ennio Morricone could give them a run for their money. A fist-full of money!

As a young cowboy I didn’t stop to think where the background music originated. I only knew it suited us both, me and Clint. At primary school (all boys), we would whistle the theme to ‘The good, the bad, and the ugly,’ as the headmaster’s footsteps could be heard approaching the classroom.

Morricone has composed the music for lots of movies. Including a personal favourite, from 1986, The Mission. It starred Robert DeNiro, Jeremy Irons, and a young Liam Neeson.

I was fifteen when I saw it in the local cinema. I went alone, which was good because I found the tears welling in my eyes near the end. I won’t spoil it if you’ve never seen it. A great movie which told a true story from all sides, the good, the bad and the ugly.

In fact, it doesn’t take a proper musician to appreciate Gabriel’s Oboe. Any earthly creature with an ear could feel the emotion in the notes (they don’t make truckers like they used to).

The first is a French runner. He won the European steeplechase last night. I think this may be his third time to be crowned Euro steeplechase champ (I could be wrong). But he won last night with ease. So much ease that he decided to striptease as he ran the final straight. The pride was written all over his face. Before the evening was out he was stripped of the gold medal. Disqualified, for breaking the rules. I bet he regrets the premature celebrations, poor chap. As John Lennon used to say, in his Liverpool accent “Alright alright, keep your shirt on.”

The second reason is Mexico. The Mexican people are leading the way when it comes to world peace. As of July, 12,000 guns have been handed in to the ‘Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe’ in Mexico city since there was a programme introduced in which a weapon can be exchanged for food, or cash, or a laptop, or a domestic appliance. And get this…children who hand in toy guns also receive a reward, in the form of another toy like a football or something non-violence related. Go Mexico, be proud!!! I wonder would this be worth a try with kids all around the world? Maybe it’s not too late to help the next generation.

And finally the third reason is my eldest daughter (17) received the results of the leaving cert exams this week. For those overseas, the leaving certificate exams are the final exams of second level education. She did very well.

I don’t know much about science (there’s a song in that) but she has whittled it down to two universities. There are some things I can offer advice on. Science isn’t one of them. Although chemistry… I do know not to mix my drinks.